


Live and Learn

by stickmarionette



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist
Genre: AU, Bondage, Canon - First Anime, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, POV Second Person, episode 25 spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-07-21
Updated: 2010-07-21
Packaged: 2017-10-10 17:19:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/102184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stickmarionette/pseuds/stickmarionette
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The death of someone close to him hits Roy too hard, and Ed thinks up an extreme way to pull him back from the edge.  Written in 2005.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Live and Learn

\- your hands are shaking hard now, but you can't stop, you have to go on –

\- and -

you swallow around a suddenly dry throat, bile and saliva and the bitter metallic smell of blood in your mouth -

\- and -

you feel clammy sweat breaking out all over your skin and cold seeping from metal into flesh -

\- and -

You can't go on like this, it's bend or break and you've never know how to bend in your life –

_I was wrong. I was wrong._

Why did it come to this?

  


I: Death

"Here," you say to him, beckoning with a snap of the fingers. Left hand, of course. It's impossible to snap with automail.

Mustang gives you an incredulous look, stuffing his hands deeper into the pockets of his uniform. "What do you expect me to do?"

"Give me your gloves, Mustang."

The Colonel narrows his eyes at your carefully nonchalant tone. He doesn't respond, which tells you all you need to know, really.

You sigh in your best impression of his usual condescension. "Remember what you agreed to? Going to back out now?"

He grits his teeth, which would have normally made you grin, but today there is simply no room for it in your mind. It doesn't matter if he doesn't trust you anymore.

Maes Hughes died, after all, and Roy Mustang has never quite been the same.

_The pen clatters as it hits the ground, shattering the silence of the office. You can see the tremors running through Mustang's hands, stained with red ink. This man has been a constant of your life for a long time, and you don't like these new changes. _

"This isn't like you, Colonel."

Mustang laughs, hollow as the encompassing dark of his eyes. "Really? I haven't noticed."

He caves in, of course, although you have to yank the gloves out of his clenched fingers. The emotions that lay behind his reluctance are all too easy for you to understand – fear of weakness, pride, paranoia – but you also know the all-consuming determination that allows one to put such things aside.

It's a state of mind that some would call obsession, others insanity. The name doesn't matter, really, because most who reach that stage no longer care. You know all this; it has gone through your mind a hundred times, with a hundred different variations. It's the nature and curse of the genius mind to _ponder_, after all.

All this rests on the edges of your mind. Tonight, there is need for focus. Everything has to go just right.

  


II: Rites

Mustang is every bit the typical alchemist, just as you suspected, which – while being particularly useful in this case – is certainly ironic. You store these little amusements in the back of your mind, fortifying against the intrusion of doubt and hesitation and the desire to bolt. For now, it is simply enough that he has a basement, that staple of alchemical experimentation, which is exactly what you need.

You glanced at the floor while descending the stairs, noting the type and composition of the concrete. It's a spacious room, tidy enough for your purposes. So far, so good.

One look at Mustang reveals the next problem.

You frown thoughtfully, deciding that there's not even one good way to phrase what you're going to say. You'll just have to throw it out there, and if he can't deal…well.

_He asked for this,_ you remind yourself, firmly. _And you're going to help him._

_He's different now, enough to make everyone in the office fret and worry, and you recognise the signs, you know what he's thinking of. You feel like you have to at least try to stop him. _

"Colonel - don't do anything stupid."

He quirks an eyebrow and replies sardonically, "I'm not planning to commit dramatic suicide, Fullmetal."

You fight the urge to snarl. "You know what I mean!"

"Oh? Perhaps you can tell me, then," he says lightly, eyes burning into your own. "What is death, really?"

You take a deep breath, swallowing rising nausea, fear, even a strange sort of anticipation. "I can show you."

"All right, Mustang, let's get this straight one last time," you say, grasping for and somehow finding your usual abrasive, casual tone.

He nods curtly, impatiently, shoulders rigid and fingers bunched together out of instinct. "Do what you ask, wasn't it? I'll keep my side of the bargain."

You pause long enough to indulge in a familiar emotion – surprise that anything could affect the unflappable Mustang, let alone change him so completely. It's not entirely fair, really. You've never been the same since that day either.

"Remember you said that."

You wait for another sharp nod before continuing.

"Let's begin." You pause to take a deep breath, and then, "take your clothes off."

  


III: Burial

Mustang just stares at you for a moment, gaze hard and unreadable. The expression on your face apparently convinces him of your intentions, and he begins to slowly unbutton his uniform jacket.

You exhale heavily, glad for the lack of protest but also suddenly frightened. There is so much _power_ in this, after all. Right now, you could make him do any number of things.

Still, that's not why you're here. This is an attempt to help, and you're not that kind of person. Not yet.

For now, though, you can't help staring at the scars on his pale chest. There are so many of various shapes and sizes mapped across his front, it's hard not to wonder how each was acquired. Only the sound of boots hitting the floor makes you flush guiltily and snap your eyes up to his face.

He pauses after taking off the uniform trousers, fingers clenched on the elastic of his boxers.

"That's enough, leave that," you say hastily.

Both of you sag just little with relief at the end of that particular ordeal, but you can't relax. You know that worse is still to come.

_I wonder if he'll ever forgive me._

That is the idle thought you allow yourself to indulge in. After all, you already know you won't forgive yourself.

_"It has to be like this. You know what he's going to do, otherwise."_

"What are you going to do to him?" Al whispers, appalled and frightened.

"I'm going to make him understand."

You make sure to meet Mustang's eyes head on before clapping your hands together. He rubs his forefingers against each other, flinching at the reminder of his helplessness when flesh met flesh. Still, he doesn't move.

Silence is assent. You bend down, touching your hands to the floor. Through the light and pure heady rush of the first transmutation, you begin your monologue.

"I read your notes, Mustang. They're wrong."

It's an easy bit of alchemy, almost no forethought required. The concrete below Mustang softens, tendrils springing up to wrap around his limbs and bind him to the floor.

To the man's credit, his voice is steady when he speaks. "Then - "

"Shut up and listen," you say evenly, standing. "I know you haven't tried anything."

One step forward.

"If you had, I wouldn't be talking to you."

Another.

"There are things you need to _understand_ about human transmutation, Mustang."

One more, and you're in front of him. He's holding himself still, but the effort shows, in the clenching and unclenching of his fingers, and the strain in his eyes.

"Conventional wisdom would suggest that you couldn't possibly get it, because you haven't done it yourself."

Something in you recoils from what's coming, but you push on, desperately injecting calm you don't have into your voice.

"Don't worry, I'll show you."

  


IV: Decay

Oh, but there is fear in his eyes now, and it breaks you a little to see it, but you push on.

"Forget what you know about alchemy. Just remember this."

You crouch down and clap, touching the restraints with a gloved finger. Mustang stiffens as the blue lightning of your transmutation washes over his body, but he remains silent.

Silence is assent.

"To gain something, one must give up something in return."

The restraints are tighter now and probably uncomfortable. Mustang bites down on his bottom lip hard, but his eyes are determined. Obsessed.

He's not backing down. Not just yet.

_"What would you do to find out?"_

"Anything."

"…anything? You sure?"

"Yes."

You clap again and touch your trembling hand to the restraints around his left leg.

"If the payment isn't enough, you'll create a monster. Something of yours will be taken."

The restraints tighten to the point of extreme pain, and there is a severe frown on Mustang's face and cold sweat on his forehead, but he doesn't look pained, nor does he make a sound.

Another clap of your unsteady hands, another transmutation, this time to the bonds around his right arm, and you wonder how much longer you can keep this up.

"If you understand that, you can offer a price and gain something."

Mustang's eyes are clenched closed, his lip is bleeding, pain is evident in every line of his face, and yet his eyes are determined. He remains silent.

Silence is assent. You close your eyes and take a deep breath.

He's not backing down. Not yet.

"But that's not enough. There's still the Gate."

  


V: Breakdown

Your hands won't stop shaking, but you press them together and then to the floor, one last time.

A promise is a promise, after all.

Softer bonds this time, smooth and wide and winding themselves around Mustang's neck like rope, winding and tightening with just enough force to choke but not so much as to crush his windpipe.

\- your hands are shaking hard now, but you can't stop, you have to go on –

"The Gate is Truth."

Mustang is still fighting the urge to thrash against the restraints, still not even attempting to speak through the choking sounds he's making.

"Do you see now?"

He's choking, dying, with obsession still written in his eyes.

\- you swallow around a suddenly dry throat, bile and saliva and the bitter metallic smell of blood in your mouth -

"Damn you, Mustang! Why - "

\- you feel clammy sweat breaking out all over your skin and cold seeping from metal into flesh -

" – why do this to yourself?"

You can't go on like this, it's bend or break and you've never know how to bend in your life –

_I was wrong. I was wrong._

Why did it come to this?

One more shaky clap to release him, because you can't, you're choking to death, you can't do this anymore.

  


All is one, one is all

_"Colonel? Colonel! Are you all right?"_

Mustang's attempt at speech is interrupted by a bout of violent coughing. When he finally regains his breath, his tone is firm. "Not great, but I'll live."

You turn away. "…sorry."

Still, his eyes are clear, and that's something.

 

_fin._


End file.
